


The Call

by AZGirl



Series: The Aftermath [1]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post Episode s02e19: Medicate and Isolate, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: Sitting on his couch, Clay was fidgeting with his cell phone, flipping it end over end as he reflected upon the call he needed to make.





	The Call

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t the first time that a conversation between me and Celtigal1041 has ended up with both of us writing something. “The Call” takes place before “Jason’s Burden” (Celticgal1041) but the stories can be read on their own. 
> 
> ***Warning*** Mentions of suicide by a minor character.

**ooooooo**

“ _Life has a way of testing a person’s will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen at once_.” ~~~ Paulo Coelho 

**ooooooo**

Sitting on his couch, Clay was fidgeting with his cell phone, flipping it end over end as he reflected upon the call he needed to make. 

Because his friend was a retired vet, there would be no CACO visit to make the notification.  Instead, the police were going to take care of notifying Swanny’s family. He was going to take on the responsibility of notifying the man’s other family – his SEAL family. Clay was exhausted and his leg hurt, but it had to be done, and he didn’t think he should delay any longer than necessary. 

Yet, he had been hesitating to call Jason for God only knew how long. He was the one who had been there for Swanny’s last day and had failed the man when it mattered most. He’d seen how discouraged Brett had been, but had not gone after him, instead waiting for the man’s prescriptions. He felt guilty for having failed the man who had stuck by him during his recovery simply because they shared the honor of having been team guys. He felt shame for not having done more for Swanny who helped him get over himself and his injury and finally contact his team. 

He was hoping he would only have to call Jason, because he didn’t really think he had the mental or emotional strength to have to make a bunch of calls. His master chief would inform the team and they would likely spread the word faster than he ever could. 

His thoughts drifted back several hours. The shock of finding Swanny dead had put all notions of calling 911 out of his head for several minutes as grief poured out of him. Having not expected the sudden weight in arms, and the way they’d fallen onto the pavement, meant it had taken him a few minutes to be able to make the call, grunting from the occasional flare-ups of pain as he attempted to get to his phone. All the while he had been cursing himself and his bad leg for not being strong enough to easily gain the leverage he’d needed to reach the cell phone he’d had in his pocket.  

Finding Swanny the way he did had cut him to the core. Yet another friend and brother was dead. Yet again he was alone, having to deal with the fallout. He felt so selfish for even having those thoughts. 

He felt even worse when he’d had to explain to the cops and paramedics who had shown up in response to his call. Somehow he’d managed to get out from under Swanny’s body and dragged himself over to sit on the nearby curb, leg extended and throbbing in time to his heartbeat and his cane out of reach. The lack of surprise on the faces of the cops made him wonder just how many suicide calls they had attended to at the VA, or for veterans in general. His heart sunk at the implication it had been far too many. 

The paramedics had noticed his discomfort and had offered to check him over, but he’d declined because he felt he deserved any pain he was feeling. He’d ended up having to accept the offer for the retrieval of his damned cane and for help up off the ground, making him feel useless and ashamed all over again for his perceived weaknesses. 

Because the man’s vehicle had been the scene of the incident, Swanny’s truck was towed, and Clay had been forced to accept a ride home from the police officers. He’d hated being treated as if he were fragile by the two men who had shared more than one look he didn’t appreciate and had carefully chosen their words for the duration of the ride back to his apartment. It made the ride seem ten times longer when all he wanted to do was be alone and not think about the past twelve hours. 

Eventually, he made it to his apartment door, his limp having grown more pronounced with each step after getting out of the police cruiser. Fumbling his keys, he dropped them, and then cursed a blue streak as he picked them up. Finally, he got his door open, stepped into his apartment, flipped the light on, and closed the door, leaning his forehead against it. That’s when he sees those damned sticky notes. 

He’d wanted to forget, but those sticky notes brought everything right back to the fore. He flashed on seeing Swanny’s bloody chest and tightly squeezed his eyes shut. 

Opening his eyes he sees “Check Stove” on a yellow sticky note and immediately feels his bad leg start to give away. He barely makes it to his couch before he breaks down again, his breath heaving and eyes stinging, but not letting any tears fall. 

Minutes or hours go by as he sits and thinks back over every second of the day he’d spent with Swanny, trying to figure out if there was anything he could or should have done differently. His eyes keep straying towards his refrigerator and the sticky notes that were on its front. 

If only he had not noticed the note about Brett’s appointment. If only he hadn’t conned the scheduler so Swanny could see the doctor who had denied the MRI his friend was so determined and desperate to have. If only the VA could’ve done something for his friend other than just outright denying him any hope. If only he hadn’t waited for those damned prescriptions. If only he had figured out sooner what YODO meant. 

If only… 

At some point, he’s brought out of his self-condemnation when he feels a spot of warmth on his hand. Clay looks down and sees a ray of sunlight has reached it. He hadn’t realized how late – or how early – it was in the day. 

He looks at his phone and sees that it is just after 0600 in the morning, which meant it was just after 2000 hours in the evening in Guam. Unless there was night training or they were on a mission, it was late enough that the guys should be done for the day, so he should be able to get a hold of Jason. But he’s hesitant to do so, feeling as if he’s failed not only Swanny but his boss. 

His eyes stray once more towards the sticky notes on his refrigerator and he considers taking them down, but is uncertain at the moment if his leg would hold up to even such a short walk. He decides to try anyway, knowing he was delaying the inevitable and not wanting to constantly see the reminders of the friend he hoped was now at peace. 

Clay puts his phone in his pocket and barely lays a hand on his cane when his phone rings, causing him to startle a little.  

He scrabbles for his phone and nearly drops it trying to check the caller ID which says _Sonny_. 

Since that first time he’d called the team after being injured, he’s been trying to be better about communication with them and answers them most of the time. Some days he just can’t handle talking to his old team, especially when his future was still in doubt. On days where his PT hasn’t gone well, he can’t help but feel discouraged, and disregards all attempts at communicating with them. This time he does answer, thinking it would be good to hear his friend’s voice after everything that’s happened over the past day. 

“Hey”—he clears his throat—“Hey Sonny.” 

“Hey Blondie. What’s up? How’s PT goin’?” 

Clay can’t bring himself to answer as his emotions rush to clog his throat, making it difficult to speak. It’s only a few words, but he had so badly needed to hear his friend’s voice. He clears his throat a couple of times, and luckily Sonny misinterprets the reason why. 

“Aww, man… Damn it! Did I screw up the time difference again? Were you asleep?” Sonny chuckles. “Sorry Sunshine, I didn’t mean to wake your lazy ass up.” 

Sonny being Sonny is enough to draw out a tiny smile from him. “Don’t worry about it, Sonny.” Clay rubs his forehead, finally noticing he has a headache developing. “Is Jason there?” 

His friend doesn’t immediately answer, but Clay can hear some distant voices in the background. 

“Yeah; he’s here. Wanna talk to him?” 

“Just… Just tell him I’ll call him back on his phone in a few.” 

“Clay, you alright?” 

_No, I’m not,_ he thinks. _I’m so very far from being alright right now._

He wants to say that, but doesn’t. Instead he says, “I’m fine, man.” 

He knows Sonny senses something is off with him, but his friend’s question throws him even further off balance. “You’re coming back to the team, ain’t ya?” 

Clay sighs. “I don’t know,” he answers, and then abruptly hangs up. 

He takes a deep breath and exhales before hitting the speed dial number for Jason. It barely finishes ringing once before he hears the master chief’s voice. 

“Spenser. What’s wrong?”

 

**ooooooo  
**

_The end._

**ooooooo**

 

**Story Notes :**

\-- CACO: Casualty Assistance Calls Officer part of the CACP (CACProgram). 

\-- I personally don’t believe all cops would be inured to suicide calls in general or at the VA, but in the story, this is how Clay is interpreting the situation after the immense shock of finding Swanny. 

\-- YODO: You Only Die Once 

\-- The things you learn… Guam is 14 hours ahead of the east coast of the United States. 

\-- Veterans can talk with a trained counselor through the Veterans Crisis Line: 1-800-273-8255 (Press 1) or send a text message to 838255 to connect with a VA responder.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing. All remaining mistakes are my fault. 
> 
> Thanks for reading my first SEAL Team story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: SEAL Team is not mine. I’m just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.


End file.
